


Limit

by imagines



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: M/M, autassassinophilia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-29
Updated: 2011-04-29
Packaged: 2017-10-18 18:58:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/192172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imagines/pseuds/imagines
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eames is too good a man to kill a lover without warning them first.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Limit

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING: Autassassinophilia...ish. Consensual gun violence. Not porn. Still kink. Still intense. Title refers to a BDSM limit.

"Bang," Eames says quietly, because he's too good a man to kill a lover without warning them first.

He fires.

The shot hurls Arthur to the ground, a hole in his chest, his blood all over everything—all over Eames—

They wake up.

They're in Arthur's bed, the PASIV humming on the floor. Like it's _happy_ they allow it to contribute to their fucked-up games.

He rolls to face Arthur. Arthur is okay. Arthur's heart is still inside his body where it belongs, not laid out where just any worthless bastard can look at it. No one should ever get to see his heart like that.

Arthur stares at him, breathing and breathing, exactly like a lover should.

"Don't ever, _ever_ ask me to do that again," Eames tells him.

"I won't. I promise." Arthur's eyes aren't quite focused. He'd warned Eames that he might take some time to come back up completely.

They lie there for a long time, quiet. The feeling of a heart stopping isn't easily forgotten, whether it's your own or another's.

"It's out of your system," Eames says. "Or it's not, but you'll have to find someone else."

"I wouldn't have asked anyone but you. I wouldn't have trusted anyone else."

"To do it right?"

"Any idiot could pull a trigger if I told him to." Arthur grabs his hand and holds on like this is everything. "But _you_ —you would stay with me after we woke up."

A hole in Arthur's chest, Eames thinks. And a little red birdlike thing fluttering weakly in the mess, inside the jagged shattered window of his ribs. "You keep leaving your heart out where anyone can see it," he mutters.

"Not anyone. Just you."

Like bullets, those words, for all Eames can breathe when they strike him. He can feel them fragmenting—all that shrapnel, burning him up inside. He could never get it all out. Lucky he doesn't want to try.


End file.
